


Click

by LadyChi



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Exhibitionism (kinda), F/M, Photography, smutty smut smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:45:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyChi/pseuds/LadyChi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver's model partner for a photoshoot does not show up. Felicity fills in and it leads to other things... Expanded from a Tumblr prompt by absentlyabbie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Click

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly porn. There is only a loose plot. Sorry not sorry.

Oliver tries not to grumble as Felicity hustles him from the board room to the set of the People magazine photo shoot. They’re doing a piece on his transformation from spoiled rich kid to survivor to business heir. The only thing that makes it bearable is the deal he worked out with the photographer: One: He can wear his own clothes. Two: He gets final choice on which shots make it into the magazine. And three: the photographer won’t waste Oliver’s time.

 

So when they get there, and the photographer starts hmming and hahing about lighting and “showing the domestic side, but also the feral tiger within”, Oliver wants to claw his own eyes out.

 

He shoots down pictures of him volleying a ball back and forth on a tennis court (people are already aware he’s a spoiled brat with his own tennis courts, thank you very much), pictures of him in his father’s study (nope. Just nope), pictures of him swimming in the family pool.

 

"You’re being difficult," Felicity hisses.

 

"Yes, well, he’s being asinine," Oliver says. "And isn’t there supposed to be a girl here?"

 

The photographer, a wild-eyed man named Rene, rolls his eyes expressively. “Yes, Maureen. She is beautiful, just beautiful. You will love her, Mr. Queen.”

 

"Wait. She’s not here yet?" Oliver dusts off his pants. "We’ll have to reschedule. I have other things I could be doing."

 

"You’re already on thin ice with Isabel," Felicity whispers sharply. "If you don’t behave, she’s going to give you hell. And by you, I mean me, since I’m supposed to, somehow, control you. So quit acting like a two-year-old."

 

"This!" Rene points a finger. "This I can work with!"

 

"Excuse me, what?" Oliver says.

 

"The playboy billionaire and his sexy assistant!" The photographer crows. "Saving the Queen family name and looking devastatingly attractive while doing so!"

 

"I don’t…" Felicity sighs. "I don’t want my picture in a magazine. People already think…"

 

"No, No, of course not. Just the back of your head, your hands — very, very sexy. We will make it very sexy. And very discreet. Besides, I don’t need your lovely face to sell the chemistry. It crackles, just so!"

**

Felicity is rushed off to a make up artist, who tousles her carefully arranged hair, fits her in a pencil skirt and a blouse which is so sheer its sinful. Her feet are wedged into black Louis Vitton pumps which are not really her style but they do make her legs look a mile long. Felicity insists on bright red lips, however. Fuck-me-red, she thinks… If she has to look sexy, she might as well feel sexy.

 

Oliver’s in one of his trademark grey suits, of course, designer tie hanging loosely from his neck.  

 

The photographer starts with just a few shots of Felicity’s well-manicured hand on Oliver’s shoulder.

 

"I want you to look at that hand like you wish it were somewhere else," the photographer calls. "Can we get some sexy music, please?"

 

Oliver nearly sighs and does roll his eyes. Felicity bends down to whisper in his ear. “Stop. It will be over soon.”

 

"I hate this."

 

She tugs on his ear and smiles. “I’m well aware. So is everyone else in this room. So put on your big boy pants and pretend I’m attractive, okay?”

 

Oliver’s hand covers her own, his eyes furrowed like he genuinely doesn’t understand. “I don’t have to pretend, Felicity. You’re a knock out.”

 

"Yes, in these clothes. And the hair. I’m told it’s sexy.  And the makeup. I need to look into —"

 

Rene’s shouts interrupt them. "Yes! Yes! Keep talking! This is beautiful!"

 

Felicity and Oliver both look at Rene. “What?” Felicity says, looking confused.

 

"I’m sorry, I broke your concentration. Please, go on pretending you two are the only two people in this room." Rene snaps his fingers. "Someone bring me a glass table — another chair. You, you —"

 

"Felicity—" Felicity says patiently.

 

"Yes, you with the odd name. You sit next to Mr. Queen, put your foot in his lap. Yes — just like that. Mr. Queen, take her shoe off, hold it in your hands — you are about to rub her feet…"

 

"Well, this feels ridiculous," Felicity mutters as she arranges herself.

 

"Beautiful! You have beautiful feet! You are gorgeous, darling. Hold that pose, hold it… Mr. Queen, what are you doing with your face? Talk to him, angel. He’s just a disaster when you’re not talking to him.”

 

Felicity starts laughing and almost can’t stop.

 

"Dig your foot in just a bit. He’s your boss but he wants to please YOU…"

 

"Always been a fantasy of mine," Felicity says, and snaps her mouth closed as soon as she realizes it’s just been said out loud.

 

Oliver digs his fingers into the bottom of her feet. “Like this? Is this like in your fantasy?”

 

His eyes are dark, storming with something. Felicity’s breath catches in her throat. “There are a thousand people looking at us right now.”

 

"Yes, but I’m supposed to be pretending that I want you," Oliver says, his mouth barely moving. "Which means that… for however long this lasts —" his hands slide up her leg, cup her knee cap. "I can drop the mask."

 

Felicity’s mind goes completely and utterly blank.

 

"Oh, you two are turning me on. Okay, okay!”

 

For the next two hours, Oliver’s hands are everywhere. In her hair, on her legs. Holding her hand, touching her neck. The photographer eventually works them to almost-kisses. The nape of her neck, the palm of her hand, the inside of her knee.

 

Then, they are asked to  switch roles. It’s her hand on his neck tie, removing his jacket, unbuttoning his shirt. Pulling him by the neck tie as close as she can. He smiles the whole time she plays the aggressor like it’s the funniest thing in the world, right up until the photographer shouts out — “Why don’t you kiss him for real?”

 

Felicity pauses. She looks in his eyes, sees acceptance — maybe even hope? She lets her hands walk up his sleeves, caresses his cheek and the stubble there. Oliver ducks his head to whisper in her ear. “It’s not just the clothes, or the makeup. You’re a knockout every single day, Felicity Meghan Smoak.”

 

She pulls him in to her mouth by the nape of his neck and they kiss — once. Twice. Slowly, ever so slowly, just tasting what they’ve always denied themselves. Then their mouths open, and his hands are on her back, grasping the material of her blouse until she’s afraid it will render underneath of his strength.

 

Then — of mutual accord — they take a step back. Felicity straightens her blouse. Oliver adjusts himself.

 

"Excuse me," Felicity says. "I think I need to go get… retouched."

 

"No need," says the photographer, grinning. "I think everyone got what they needed. Some of us were done five minutes ago."

 

Felicity gapes at him.

 

"Some moments," Rene says with a shrug, "are not for public consumption. But — it is always good to have them documented, yes? I’ll send you the digital files, my dear." He steps closer to Felicity, whispering. "I am paid to see what others do not, and I see plainly that what happened here was not an act, was it? You two love each other."

 

Felicity felt her face go white. “I…I…”

 

"I know, life is complicated, my dear, and there is always something standing in our way — but it is also true that life is short. If you want something, don’t you think you ought to go after it as fast as you can?"

 

Oliver lifted his eyebrows at her as she looked over at him — clearly he’d heard everything that had been said.

 

"Some things," Felicity says, feeling that old familiar mix of love and lust twist in her belly, "it’s much better not to push. But… thank you for this. This will tide me over until we’re both ready."

 

"If you say so, my dear," Rene says, with a sad shrug of his shoulders. "If you say so."

**

Oliver follows her back into the make-up room, his hands in his pockets. “Are you okay?”

 

"What? Why wouldn’t I be okay?"

 

"We were just… put on open display there. We might have… got… you know."

 

"Carried away?"

 

"Yeah. That." Oliver carefully looks anywhere but at her.

 

"Oliver, I’m perfectly okay with how I feel about you. I’m perfectly okay with showing it." Felicity slams her lipstick down. "It’s you that doesn’t want to be involved with someone you care about…whatever that means."

 

"I don’t want to. But I don’t know if I can avoid it anymore," Oliver says, his eyes slowly tracking toward her. "I don’t know if I can know what you taste like and tell myself ‘no’."

 

"Anytime you want to kiss me — anytime you want to take that step, you let me know," Felicity says, tossing her hair.

 

Oliver crosses the room in a hurry, pressing her against the makeup counter. He puts both hands on each side of her face. “Anytime? Is now.”

 

“Seriously?” Felicity asks, unable to stop herself.

 

Oliver doesn’t answer her, he just steps further into her space, until one of his knees is pressing against hers, and it’s tempting to open her thighs. His mouth is so close to hers, but not touching her -- but she refuses to move. If Oliver Queen wants to kiss her, then he needs to be the one to make the move. She’s not risking her heart until she knows he’s convinced himself that this is what he really wants.

 

“I really want --” his hands drop from her face, to her shoulders, to the buttons of her sheer blouse. He swallows and she can see him struggling for control. “I really want to touch you.”

 

Felicity draws in a shuddering breath. “What are you waiting for?”

 

Suddenly, he lifts her up, setting her on the counter, and his mouth is on hers. And her blouse is being swiftly unbuttoned. And her leg is wrapping around his waist, and that Vitton heel that she was complaining about earlier is digging into Oliver’s back because they’ve been playing like this for so long -- carefully inches away from anything dangerous, that now that he’s close, he’s not close enough.

 

Oliver opens her blouse while he kisses her, cups her bra, and Felicity feels like her body’s about to go in overdrive. He slides the shirt off of her arms and Felicity pulls away, breathing hard.

 

“Lose the shirt,” she says, working his tie loose.

 

Oliver shoots her a grin that must have been like the one before the island -- she can see a mischievous, well-pleased with himself little boy inside of his eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, and it sends a shiver right through her.

 

Working all the buttons undone takes time, and they trade kisses until finally, Oliver wrenches the shirt off, and Felicity is allowed to touch what her eyes have long had memorized. Oliver goes still as her hands explore -- some of his scars are rough, new -- some of them well-worn, part of the fabric of his skin and part of the fabric of his soul. She’s never known him without them -- wonders if she would have liked the boy that had yet to be weathered into a man.

 

“Sorry,” she says, realizing she’s gotten distracted.

 

“It’s okay,” Oliver says.  “I like the way you’re looking at me right now. Like I’m a puzzle you can’t quite figure out.”

 

Felicity licks her lips and looks up at him through her eyelashes. She can’t help herself. “I just can’t help it,” she says.  

 

Oliver captures one of her hands, brings it to his mouth. “Good.” Then he reaches around her, and tugs the zipper of her skirt down, and lets it fall to the floor. He sets her back on the make up counter and then they’re kissing again, only this time the fabric of his slacks is rubbing her bare thighs and the friction makes her want to scream because it’s not nearly enough, but every nerve ending is awakened.

 

“Fast,” Felicity says against Oliver’s mouth. “Oh, God, Oliver…”

 

His thumb has found her clit, through her panties, and he’s rubbing on it, back and forth, back and forth, and she’s shaking with need because she wants direct contact, wants more. Oliver dips his fingers inside her panties and brushes her folds. Felicity nearly cries, she’s so turned on.

 

“Oliver, please.”

 

“Please what?” He’s grinning at her. He knows perfectly well what she wants, but he wants to make her say it. Felicity doesn’t even care.

 

“Please put your fingers inside me.”

 

He bites down, gently, on her lips and Felicity spreads her legs wide, moving her panties to the side herself. “Well, with an invitation like that,” Oliver says, and his voice is dropping lower and lower every time he says something and Felicity can’t help it, when he lets a knuckle brush over her folds she twtiches.

 

“Oliver!”

 

“Hm. I love the way you say my name.” Slowly, ever so slowly, he works a finger inside of her. She can feel herself clutching around him. Her whole body, it seems, has been craving this, refuses to let him go. In and out, in and out.

 

Felicity lets her hand travel down her body and flicks a fingernail over her clit over and over and over again and then she’s keening at him for more, more… He slides a second finger in and his fingers are calloused and brilliant and talented, and they curve upward just so and…

 

Oh.

**

Oliver watches as she comes apart around his fingers, and then takes his sopping wet hand, licks it clean -- Felicity’s taste isn’t unpleasant, something he could definitely get used to -- and the scent of it is divine, and unhooks her bra.

 

They have to go fast, he’s well aware. Any minute now, someone could come knocking. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for him to be caught like this, but -- he doesn’t want that for Felicity. He wants so much for Felicity, but never that.

 

He brings his mouth down, sucks in her breast and lets his teeth graze over her nipple. Felicity is all incoherence and sexy babble and everything is fading into a tunnel. He wants to fuck her, but he also wants other things. He wants time to explore her body, find out if she reacts this way every time.

 

“Condom,” he finally hears Felicity say breathlessly. “We need a condom.”

 

“Wallet,” he says, and goes back to her breasts, which are delicious, just like the rest of her.

 

He feels her reach into his back pocket and grab his wallet. She’s going through it, her arms extending above his head while he’s going to town on her breasts and he starts to chuckle until Felicity flicks his ear.

 

“This is very serious business,” she says, but her voice isn’t serious at all. “Ah ha!”

 

She holds the little packet above her head like a trophy and then slides off the makeup counter, still wearing those heels, and Oliver is harder than he’s ever been before. Felicity undoes his belt, unbuttons his pants and slides his boxer briefs down just enough. The very model of efficiency, she spits on her hand, and takes hold of him.

 

Oliver nearly sees stars.

 

She’s not gentle, his Felicity, but then he doesn’t want her to be. He captures her mouth again, working his hips against her hand in a delicious rhythm.

 

“Don’t you come,” she says against his lips. “Don’t you come until you’re inside me.”

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Oliver says on a low whisper, and watches in fascination as she unwraps the condom, slides it over his dick. “How do you want to do this?”

 

Felicity hops back up on the make-up counter and spreads her legs. “Like this?”

 

Oliver wants to bend down, investigate her valley with his mouth, but -- he knows they’re running out of time. Knows they have to be fast. Her panties are once again shoved to the side and he pushes himself home.

 

Once he’s fully seated, they both pause, staring at each other, until Felicity starts to grin madly. “That is fucking perfect,” she says.

 

Oliver couldn’t agree more. He sets a punishing pace for himself -- fast, but not so fast it will hurt her -- slowly enough that it requires some control.

 

Felicity is having none of it. “Come on, Oliver, lose it,” she says. “Just a little bit, for me.”

 

He doesn’t want to hurt her, doesn’t want to lose control, but she’s asking, so…

 

They’re kissing now, and it’s demanding. Give, give, give… take, take, take, and he never lets up and all he can think about is how she feels and how she tastes and how good she feels all around him and how he never wants to let her go and he says something really sexy like, “Ngrha”, and comes.  
  


He fists his hands and forces himself to keep pumping for a couple of moments, then pulls out, spent. He steps away, slightly to the side, and leans on the counter.

 

“Oh my God,” Felicity says, leaning back against the mirror. “That was…”

 

Oliver waits.

 

“Amazing.” Felicity laughs, tosses her hair. “I probably look thoroughly debauched, but it was completely and totally worth it.”

 

“Do people still say debauched?” Oliver asks, kissing her cheek. He doesn’t want to let her go. He lets his hand rest on her thighs.

 

“People who are having sex in dressing rooms with their billionaire bosses say debauched.” Felicity says. “Ugh, these panties are ruined.”

 

She slips them off, tosses them in a trash can, and slides the skirt back over her body. She’s reaching for her blouse when she stops.

 

“You’re looking at me strangely.”

 

“You’re not wearing underwear.”

 

“Clearly not,” Felicity says, gesturing to the trashcan. “I mean -- they’re wet and… yeah, no. Not putting those back on my body.”

 

“We’re riding back to the offices together,” Oliver says, slowly.

 

“Yes.” Felicity smiles at him. “And I’m not wearing underwear.”

 

Oliver starts to button his shirt. “Okay, then. Let’s get this show on the road.”

 

Felicity laughs.

**

The Oliver Queen edition of the People Magazine -- where he is featured on the cover, a pair of hands slowly working his shirt undone -- is the best selling edition of People Magazine for the whole year.

 

Felicity is often asked if she’s the girl in the photo, but she shrugs off questions, and quietly goes about spending her days like she always had. It’s just that now her nights involve more than just helping Oliver save the city. Now, more nights than not, they go back to her place.

 

Sometimes they have sex; sometimes they don’t.

 

But there is a picture of their first kiss -- Oliver’s hand on her cheek, her heels against his legs -- framed, next to their bed. Felicity thrills every time she thinks about it.

 

And a year later, Rene takes a picture of a very different sort of kiss -- the kind one has when one is wearing white and standing in front of five hundred of one’s closest friends and family. Until the end of his career, he always tells the story of what he saw in a young business executive and his secretary -- not just a sexual craving, although yes, that was there -- but love, real love, as well.


End file.
